


Arachne

by MoanDiary



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, asshole baby just wants to be loved, the fourteen-billion-year-old virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: She makes him ache in more ways than one.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Michael
Comments: 39
Kudos: 167





	Arachne

The zoo isn’t what he would call “homey.” The gate of the rusty chain-link fence that surrounds it screeches like a banshee when opened. The animal enclosures are overgrown with weeds and years of dried-out fallen foliage that hisses and whispers along the abandoned concrete sidewalks whenever the wind kicks up. Stalls and kiosks that once sold crappy souvenirs or dispensed maps of the facility stand like lonely sentinels, the lettering on their signs faded and weathered into illegibility.

Michael takes up residence in the main office, which contains a lounge and locker rooms once used by the zookeepers. The floor and walls show signs of a leaky roof, and the place is absolutely overrun by spiders. He doesn’t mind sharing the space. He’s always had a particular affinity for the leggy buggers. Just going about their lives, following their natures, the way Dad designed them. Little marvels, really, possessing nothing more than a simple nervous system, and yet they spin elaborate and beautiful traps for their prey. But still are feared rather than admired for it—loathed, even. Definitely in the top ten most common human fears, and he would know.

He struggles out of Lucifer’s too-tight jacket, the right sleeve catching and bunching around his elbow until he manages to whip it across the room. The stupid, vain narcissist. He’d wear a strait-jacket if he thought it made him look pretty. He’ll need to scrounge up something more comfortable to wear now that Plan A has fallen through. No matter, he has plenty of contingencies.

He beats the dust out of the cushions on the lone musty sofa in the lounge and throws himself onto it with a sigh, toeing off Lucifer’s shoes and staring at the wavy patterns of the water stains on the moldering drop ceiling. The walls are painted a faded blue-green, almost the precise shade of Chloe Decker’s eyes. Her lovely, duplicitous eyes. The places she shot him pulse with a faint memory of an ache. Oh, did she ever play him. Very few could manage that, much less a mortal woman.

She was something to behold, Lucifer’s little miracle, during the brief time they spent together. Fierce and fearsome, like a panther on the prowl when she hunted down criminals. Navigating danger with calm expertise, her brilliant mind working all the while. And not just unmasking petty human criminals, but finding and exploiting his _own_ weaknesses with unerring precision. He thinks about her lips against his, her hand moving in his pocket, the scent of her skin. She makes him ache in more ways than one, but the feeling coalesces in his groin, into an excitement he usually ruthlessly suppresses. 

But hey, nothing else has gone his way tonight. He deserves a little consolation prize.

He fumbles at his belt and his fly, sighing when his hand finally wraps around his aching, stiffening cock. His mind provides him with the image of her soft, plump lips wrapping around a spoon, sucking it into her mouth with an obscene moan. Then her sinking to her knees before him and making the same noise as her lips wrap around his length. Her eyes flicking upwards to look at him heatedly as her cheeks hollow and she _sucks_ , hard. He wraps her perky blonde ponytail around his fist and holds her in place as he thrusts into the wet heat of her mouth. She groans and submits, taking him deeper, one hand massaging his balls and the other kneading her own soft breast.

She should be naked, he decides, swiping his thumb teasingly over the head of his cock. All that smooth, golden skin exposed. Pert nipples he knows well from a certain film he watched as part of his research. Baring herself before him, and before anyone else who might walk into the precinct breakroom. The wet noises she makes as she sucks and swallows him are absolutely filthy. He imagines spittle dripping onto her chest and he feels himself twitch suddenly in his hand. He squeezes and pulls at himself faster, but it’s not enough.

He pictures her on her hands and knees, presenting herself to him in the way that base animals do. The undiscovered country between her legs, a sight even Lucifer hasn’t seen, glistening and wet for him, for _him_. He squeezes the soft flesh of her hips and takes her, sliding all the way home. She cries out, the force of his thrusts knocking her down onto her forearms. His clothes are gone now, too, and they’re skin-to-skin. He buries his nose in her tawny hair. She smells of seawater and ambergris, of sunlight and the forever blooming flowers that grow in the Silver City—half-earthy and half-heavenly.

_“Michael!” she cries. “Yes! Harder!”_ He imagines wrapping a hand around her throat and holding her in place as his hips slap briskly against her ass. Her brief flash of fear as he tightens his fingers slightly jolts through his body before she relaxes into it, submits to him completely. He imagines pressing his cheek against hers and wanting—and wanting—

He growls in frustration, left hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock and right hand teasing his nipple beneath Lucifer’s rucked up, too-tight tailored shirt. It’s good but it’s not enough. Not enough…

There was that one moment—that brief, shining moment—where he believed her clever lie. That she liked him better than Lucifer. That this miracle woman, handmade for his ungrateful twin, wanted _him_ instead, with all his differences. The unpleasant, unlikable Michael. With fear at his command rather than desire. With his superior focus on the details of the case, so like hers. His calm competence at protecting her from harm. Michael was better for her than Lucifer. Lucifer would abandon her as soon as something prettier came along. And maybe then, then…

He imagines her turning and kissing him softly, intimately, her lips and tongue hot against his, her hand pressed gently to his cheek, caressing. His hand relaxes around her throat and slides down, down between her legs, stroking her clit, his pleasure ratcheting up as she trembles in delight against him. She falls apart, whimpering and shaking, gasping his name again and again as he continues to thrust. Slower, now, deeper. He’s just what she needs, what she wants—

“Chloe,” he chokes out, mouth stretching in a grin as a rising bliss takes him.

Michael’s orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut, sudden and shocking, his whole body tensing, hips jerking upwards. He spends messily onto his stomach and chest, onto the stupid, uncomfortable shirt he loathes. He breathes unevenly through aftershocks that send pleasure zinging out to his extremities, that make his wings twitch towards freedom. The image of her face in rapture is burned into the inside of his eyelids. Even as he relaxes and his breath evens out it fills him with a strange warmth, with an ache in his chest that he refuses to examine.

Eventually he opens his eyes with a sigh, looking down at the cooling, unpleasant mess he’s made. The shirt is probably unsalvageable, so he tears it off and uses it to clean himself up. By the time he casts it aside, a new plan is already taking shape in his mind, though the path to it is not quite clear yet. But he’s patient. He knows how to lie in wait, to take advantage of an opportunity when one presents itself. And they always do, eventually. After all, this zoo has plenty of empty cages, and he knows _just_ the creature he’d like to capture.


End file.
